Eliza cleared her throat and shot a pointed look at Shirley.
“It were only asmallparty, sir. Embroidery and such.”
“Excellent!” Malcolm said. “I’m ever so glad you’re making social connections, darling. I shan’t have to worry about you being lonely when I’m gone.”
Eliza took a drink of water. “Yes. We were making christening gowns for the orphaned infants at the mission. Polly’s stitches are very neat and even. Do you know, the boy who fell in our south wing is courting her?”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, he’s quite recovered. I visited him at the hospital. He told me you paid him a generous sum for his troubles.”
“Right.” Malcolm dabbed at his mouth, his moustache twitching. “Never mind that. How is your sister? Is she finding her new station as Fawcett’s nurse satisfactory?”
“She’s well enough, I suppose. She’s gone back to New Orleans for the winter. Her mother wrote to her and she went to be reunited with her.”
“She’ll return, though?”
“She’s said she’ll be back before March.”
“Fair enough.” Malcolm nodded. “I’ll have Mr.Mason look after Sherbourne House this winter. We’ll need to let it out if she lingers much longer, however. It would bring in a goodly revenue for the estate. The middle classes are keen at pretending to be us these days. And we wouldn’t want squatters coming in.”
“Mr.Mason wouldn’t let that happen. And if Lydia says she will return, she most certainly will,” she said, unable to hide the thread of irritation in her voice. “She still means to marry Clarence—their engagement has only been delayed.”
“Very good.” Malcolm took up a baguette and broke it in his gloved hands, sending a shatter of crumbs across the tablecloth.
Eliza wrinkled her brow in confusion. “Why are you still wearing your gloves?”
“What?”
“Your gloves,” Eliza said, motioning to her own, which lay neatly folded to the side of her place setting. “You’ve forgotten your manners.”
“Men have started wearing their gloves at dinner in London, darling.”
“How strange,” Eliza said. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
“Ah, it’ll likely make its way to Hampshire soon enough. These sorts of things always hit the countryside last.”
While Malcolm was in an amiable mood throughout the rest of their luncheon, chattering on about the newest MPs and the votes they’d made in support of the war, Eliza was suddenly becoming bilious. Heat and cold shuddered through her body in alternating waves. She pushed back from the table, her gorge rising. “I’m not feeling so well, husband. I think I’ll turn in for a few hours, if you wouldn’t mind. I’ll be happy to hear more about London and the war at dinnertime.”
Malcolm looked at her warily, arching one dark brow. “Are you quite sure you’re all right?”
“It’s only one of my migraines flaring up, I think.”
“Well, if you’re not better by tomorrow, we should have Dr.Fawcett examine you.” He stood to press a kiss to her clammy forehead, and she hurried up to her room, where her fine lunch promptly met her chamber pot.
Eliza rolled onto her back, panting and slicked with sweat. She nuzzled into the sheets with a satisfied sigh. Her nausea from earlier in the day had been replaced by an urgent need to lay with her husband that demanded satisfaction. Multiple bouts of satisfaction.
“My.” Malcolm laughed. “You’re feeling better.”
“Indeed. Whatever my sickness was, it was brief.”
“I thought you were going to tear me to pieces,” he said, looking over his shoulder at the path of scratches she’d left on his back.
“I had to mark you as my own, lest the ladies of London get any ideas upon your return.” Eliza bit her lip and smiled up at him. “You’remine.”
“I am that,” he said. “Although I assure you, you’ve nothing to worry about.”
“When I didn’t hear from you, I began to wonder.” Eliza turned her words over in her mind before speaking them aloud. “I saw Lord Eastleigh after I said goodbye to you. At the station. He missed the first train.”
